I was driving down California Avenue one afternoon and flashed back to a photo I took while at staying with a family friend in France. The shot was of the interior of Colette's living room. It was morning and the sun streaming in the window cast a beautiful light across the room. The scene had such a magical quality that I grabbed my camera and caught the moment. When Colette saw what I was up to, she got excited and asked if I would make a portrait of her as well—and I did.
Later that day, when I got back to my studio I brought up both those photos to contemplate. As I thought back to Colette and her house, I got to thinking about the many ways our interior spaces are a reflection of our inner worlds—our priorities, perspectives, memories and needs. They act as containers for our intimate moments, solitary rumination and shared lives. They are places of sustenance and refuge, they bear witness to our family squabbles, sorrows and joys. They are where we live our successes and failures and where we share our stories of living.
We all have collections of seemingly insignificant objects strewn here and there—each with a memory of a person, place or time attached. Imbued with meaning and precious to us for the stories they tell of the places we've been, people we've loved and experiences we've shared.
Like many people addicted to their camera, I am a voyeur at heart. To gaze at a face is to conjure a story...many stories. That afternoon I decided to start collecting these stories with my camera. I would see how many people I could convince to let me photograph them in their private spaces.
Inside Lives is the beginning of that journey. A small beginning for sure, but one I hope to grow for as long as people will let me.
Heartfelt thanks to all you lovely, trusting people who have let me into your lives.